


whatever they're offering

by GalaxyOwl



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: (they get together in the end though. don't worry), Missing Scene(s), Other, Pining, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/pseuds/GalaxyOwl
Summary: This is the new Fourteen. The reassurance that they’re safe and real and here is a weight off of Tender, but even as she thinks this there’s another part of her that is just… taken in, by the shape of their face, the cut of their hair, so exactly Tender’s type that it almost isn’t funny.(A series of meetings, partings, and quiet conversations between Fourteen Fifteen and Tender Sky.)





	whatever they're offering

The person standing across from Tender in the common room of the Beloved ship is short, their posture tight and nervous, their eyes hidden by dark sunglasses (they’re from _Mirrors_ , she realizes, they must be).

“Tender,” Cascara says, gesturing towards the stranger, “I want you to meet Fourteen Fifteen. They’re going to be working with you.”

Fourteen smiles softly at her. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Tender says.

Cascara looks between the two of them. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, then,” she says, and wheels herself out of the room.

Fourteen nods, and doesn’t say anything else.

After a moment, Tender holds out a hand. “I’m Tender Sky,” she says. “I’m a mesh architecture specialist.” Among other things. More complicated things, things that her new coworker definitely does not need to know about.

“Oh,” Fourteen says. They shake her hand, their grip firm in a way she didn’t expect. “I’m—well, she already told you my name, didn’t she?” They give an awkward laugh. “But, I’m… a contractor, I suppose? I’m with Castlerose.”

Tender raises an eyebrow. They say that like she’s supposed to know what it means. “Castlerose…?”

“That’s—they’re—I’m—well. I’m in a… very particular line of work.”

“Which _is_ …?” Tender says. They’re beating around of the bush, and it’s honestly kind of obnoxious.

“Professional killings.” Deadpan.

“Oh.” Tender looks them over again: they don’t look like an assassin, she thinks. But then, what good assassin would? “That’s... cool?” she says. How do you even respond to that?

“Thanks.” That same soft smile.

Tender laughs—then catches herself, for a moment afraid she must have offended them, that this is not the kind of person she wants to offend. But then they laugh, too, a light, musical sound.

“I… look forward to working with you,” Tender says.

***

Signet lays a hand on top of Tender’s, on the table. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tender says, pulling her hand away. She’s—okay, maybe she’s still a little shaken by Fourteen’s death, but it wasn’t as if she’d known them all that well. They were practically a stranger, an acquaintance, at most. They worked together, and that was all. She hadn’t even really had the chance to get to know them, before…

Which is all to say that it was sad, yes, but hardly cause for Signet to go all excerpt-mode on her.

“Okay,” Signet says. She doesn’t sound like she believes her.

Tender gives an exaggerated sigh and starts towards the door. Where is Cascara? She and Signet are only here because there’s supposed to be some briefing, but their commander is nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you going?” Signet’s voice from behind her still holds that same fragile note of worry.

“To get a glass of water,” Tender says. Heading towards the room with the kitchen at least gives her something to do that isn’t sitting around waiting.

She’s in the kitchen, filling a glass from the tap when a flash of movement out in the hallway catches her attention. She turns to look, and there’s someone there, looking back at her now, with short, dark hair and a gun holstered at their side.

“Hello,” Tender says slowly. This person must be another Beloved agent, she supposes, someone from one of the other teams. She hasn’t really met any of them before.

“Hey,” they say, stepping towards her. “Tender—“ And her surprise must show on her face, because before she can properly respond to them apparently knowing her name, they say, “Oh. I should introduce myself. I’m Fourteen Fifteen.”

For a long moment, Tender just stares. “No, you’re not.”

They laugh. “Yes I am.”

“That’s not… “ Tender takes a shaky breath. She sets the glass down on the counter. “You _died_.”

“Haven’t I—“ They knit their brow in confusion, then shake their head. “Sorry. I probably should have explained this sooner. I didn't realize it would come up as quickly as it did.” They’re still smiling, like it’s some funny joke and not literal life-or-death seriousness. “The agency I work for has this… system in place, for when things go wrong.”

As if it’s as simple as that.

Hell, maybe it is. It isn’t _that_ weird, if Tender’s being fair; plenty of synthetics can back up their memory and cheat death in a similar way. It’s just that she hadn’t known that was on the table for Fourteen, specifically. Had already been working on accepting the fact that they were just _gone_.

But now here they are, standing across from her. They’re taller than her now.

Tender takes a deep breath, and allows herself to feel relieved.

***

The next time, she knows to expect it.

It’s an easy routine, waiting for them. It doesn’t take any effort, to make the walk to that hotel every day. She doesn’t understand why they haven’t shown, but... They will eventually. Or they won’t.

(They will. She has confidence that they will.)

Tender sits, and she waits, and they don’t come, and they don’t come, and then:

Someone’s coming towards her, all shimmery dress and soft hair and a face Tender is sure she’s seen in advertisements. They meet her gaze as they walk towards her, and it clicks before they’ve spoken a word.

This is the new Fourteen. The reassurance that they're safe and real and here is a weight off of Tender, but even as she thinks this there’s another part of her that is just… taken in, by the shape of their face, the cut of their hair, so exactly Tender’s type that it almost isn’t funny.

She’s staring, and she knows she’s staring, but they’re here and they’re new and they’re _different_ , and Tender thought she was prepared for it this time but there was really no way she could have been.

They quirk their lip in a smile, say something else, and Tender is paying attention to it, really, she is, but she’s also paying attention to the the neat coils of their hair, the bright fluorescent lights on their face, the glitter of confidence in their eyes as they laugh with her.

At the end of the conversation, she is left with a scrawled-on napkin and a tight feeling in her chest.

***

Fourteen sends her tickets to their show.

She doesn’t know if they sent to tickets to Signet as well; she doesn’t ask. If they did, she doesn’t show.

They’re a _good_ singer, and Tender’s surprised by it, even though she probably shouldn’t be. She’d gone and looked up Worthy of Grace’s old stuff pretty soon after that first meeting. (She… still isn't entirely clear how that whole thing worked, how Fourteen is suddenly also this singer. Hasn't quite figured out how to ask.) None of this should come as a shock. And the fact that they can have this kind of skill in one body but not in the previous shouldn’t be that surprising either; she’d never seen them so confidant with a gun before that became their identity. Logically, it makes complete sense, but it still sits uncomfortably beside Tender’s notion of who Fourteen Fifteen is.

Maybe that isn’t fair. This is as much them as any previous body; she has to keep reminding herself of that. And… it’s not as if she’s complaining. When they’re wearing _that_ dress, when they wink down at her from onstage, with that smile on their face—no, Tender’s not complaining. It’s screwed up that they died, that they’re going to keep dying, but if they’re okay with it then Tender’s pretty sure she can be too.

After the show, they meet Tender outside the venue, and she tells them that she loved it, shoves the flowers she brought at them—the flowers that _seemed_ like such a good idea on her way over here, had seemed like such a casual, platonic form of congratulations. But now as she’s watching them stare down at the petals she can feel her face burning, has to fight hard to keep her ears from flattening back in nervousness.

“You shouldn’t have,” Fourteen says. “But they’re lovely.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Tender says. Because it is. Because she definitely isn’t thinking about the way Fourteen had looked onstage, the way they’d _glowed_ , all confidence and glimmer.

(She goes to another of their shows, later, without telling them. They give that same wink, the one Tender had been so sure was directed at her. Because of course they do. Because it’s nothing, really.)

***

“I’ll need to see the three of you at the bridge in ten minutes,” Cascara says.

Tender glances at Signet. “Three?”

“Yes,” Cascara says, then, “I had assumed Fourteen would be with you two. Do you have any idea where they went?”

“We lost contact with Fourteen, Commander,” Signet says. “They… didn’t make it out.”

“No, they were just—“ And then, in the doorway, a figure: strange and unfamiliar and literally alien, and Tender’s heart sings at the sight of them.

“Hello,” Fourteen says.

Cascara nods as they enter. “Right. As I was saying: ten minutes,” she says, and leaves.

A moment of quiet, as no one speaks, and for a split-second Tender wonders of her assumption was wrong, if this person is no one she knows at all and Fourteen is still in the wind somewhere.

“Tender,” Fourteen says, and she forces herself to relax. “Do you—“ They glance at Signet. “I need to speak with you.”

“Okay,” Tender says. She almost asks if it can wait, but she knows it can’t. In ten minutes Cascara will be briefing them, and who knows when the next time they’ll have a chance to talk will be. Judging from the look on Fourteen’s face, it has to be something important.

Signet frowns a bit, then just says, “I’m glad you’re safe, Fourteen. I’ll be on the bridge.”

And they’re alone. Tender tries to ignore the tangled knot sitting in her stomach, her worry over Fourteen’s safety converting itself into something different as they step towards her, the ship’s lights illuminating the angles of their new face.

She waits a moment as Signet’s footsteps echo down the hallway, then says, “What is it you need to talk to me about?”

Fourteen takes a breath. “Do you know anyone by the name of Open Metal?”

Tender flinches, feels the name like a physical blow. In her mind’s eye, she sees Open again: in the temple in Tender’s mesh space, fiery devotion in her eyes; in the temple on the By-and-By, her warm laughter like familiar music.

“Tender?” Fourteen is saying, in a voice that is still so unfamiliar. “Tender, are you alright?”

She closes her eyes. She can see the temple, the statue, the fountain; she’s tempted to slide into it, let everything else fall away, but Fourteen is still looking at her expectantly, and she can’t just ignore them. They don’t deserve that.

“Yes,” she says aloud, laughing a little, “Yeah, you could probably say that I know her.”

“Yes, well.” Fourteen hesitates. “The thing is—the thing is, this Open, whoever they are, put out a hit on you.”

“What?”

No. She wouldn’t. Even after everything, Open didn’t want her _dead_. Did she? Could she? Maybe Tender really doesn’t know her anymore. It wasn’t so hard to believe, if she thinks about it.

“Right, but, it’s okay, because, obviously I’m not going to kill you.”

“You’re—wait.”

Fourteen runs a nervous hand through their hair, watching her, as Tender tries to process what they were saying.

“You’re supposed to kill me.”

“Yes.”

“That’s—how long have you been hiding this?”

“No, see, that’s the thing.” They take a breath. “I don’t know. I’d completely forgotten. Until… Well, there was this whole thing, with the contract and Castlerose and then there was this fisherman, and—none of that’s important right now. I don’t know when I agreed to kill you, or if I was ever planning on doing it.” They laugh as they say that, as if the whole thing is absurd. Tender supposes that it is, but she can’t laugh about it just yet.

Without thinking about it, she pulls her tail close to her body and runs her fingers through the thick fur.

“Tender?” Fourteen says. “I’m not going to kill you, Tender.”

Tender bites her lip. “We should go,” she says. “Cascara will be expecting us soon.”

***

Tender stalks through the streets of the By-and-By, keeping her gaze facing straight ahead through the darkened space.

She’s mad at them. Of course she’s mad at them, how could she trust them after that? How can they trust themself? Was Fourteen joining the Beloved all just an elaborate ploy to get close enough to get to her?

They knew, at one point. They’d agreed to it. How much of their early interactions was a lie, Tender wondered? The first week? The first month?

All of it, right up until they decided to tell her?

They’re getting close to the control room, if she’s right about where it is. This whole situation is a mess, but it’s nothing she can’t handle. Nothing the Beloved can’t handle.

They have a job to do, and maybe Fourteen doesn’t care about that, but she does.

 _And at the end of the job, Tender, what’s waiting for you there?_ Each step she takes is another step closer to Open. Open, who tried to have her killed, if Fourteen is to be believed. Open, who is—who’s so—well, what _isn’t_ she, at this point?

Tender doesn’t know what she’ll do when she sees her again. It’s easier to focus on what’s around her, on moving forward. On Fourteen and the mess that they’ve apparently made.

***

She sees them exactly once, during that year.

Tender recognizes the ship as it zips across the sky, but—it can’t be the same one, can it? It’s a common enough model, or it was, back in the day. Just some old fishing vessel. She tells herself this, over and over, as she climbs the hill, looks out over the horizon. She tells herself that she isn’t looking to see where it landed, she’s just _looking_ , taking in her surroundings like she always does.

But there it is, grounded now, closer than she expected. Tender forces herself to stay where she is. Watch and wait.

A single person emerges from the ship, and starts moving, heading in Tender’s general direction. She can’t quite make out their face, not yet, but it looks like—it could be—

It’s Fourteen.

She’s shouting their name, moving towards them, before she can even really think about what she’s doing.

They turn towards her in surprise, and smile, and, fuck, they’re right there, physically, actually, right here, and she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing them but right now Tender thinks she could stand here staring at their face forever. She’d forgotten it, barely had a chance to know it, and she pulls them into a hug as they say, “Tender, what are you doing here?”

She laughs as she pulls away. “I live here,” she says. “What are _you_ doing here? Your last message said you were on Moonlock.”

It’s only as she says it that she realizes that last message was months ago. Somewhere along the way, their correspondence had stopped. There was less and less to talk about that didn’t require long explanation, and communication is finicky nowadays, with the Mirage the way it is, and it was so easy to just… stop. She’d hoped they didn’t blame her.

“I’m still based off Moonlock,” Fourteen says, “but I have a client who has family on Seneschal, who had relevant information, and it turned out the easiest thing was to just make the trip myself, and then since I was making the trip, I thought it might be worth my time to look into things here—my understanding was this is where the cadent lives?” They nod towards the far structure.

“A client,” Tender says, slowly, trying to remember what Fourteen’s last message had said, exactly. Not a lot. “As in…”

Their eyes go wide. “No, it’s not—I don’t… do what I used to do for Castlerose, anymore.”

“Oh,” Tender says. “That’s good.”

“I hope so.”

Tender flicks her tail. “You said you were here to see the cadent?” They nod. “You’re pretty close—I can walk you there, if you want.”

So the two of them walk. It’s a pleasant route, one Tender’s taken many times, probably not actually the fastest way to get there. As they walk, Fourteen tells her about the case they’re working on—about how they’re a lawyer, now. (Or “they” always were? The line between where Fourteen Fifteen, in the abstract, ends, and the particular body’s identity begins has never been super sharply defined.) They tell her about this case they’re working on, how they’re nervous but also excited, how they want to _help_ people, if they can. Tender watches their face as they speak: their eyes alight, their lips shaping each word, their presence enough to make something in Tender’s chest knot itself into a tight ball of affection and longing.

Oh.

So, here’s the thing: Tender had been sure that her weird, dumb crush on Fourteen would go away the moment they changed bodies again. Like that time, when she was younger, when her classmate with the pink hair changed the color and suddenly all her interest vanished. But now Tender looks at the person standing across from her, and—sure, they’re not pretty in the same _way_ Worthy of Grace was, but they’re still Fourteen. Still the person who’s saved her life more times than she’d care to think of.

They’re talking, still, and Tender has to force herself to actually pay attention to the content of their words.

She takes them to the cadent’s house, and doesn’t follow them in.

Tender leaves, strikes a path across the landscape, moving, moving, up over the hills of Seneschal. Fourteen didn’t come here to see her. Didn’t even seem to have realized she would be here at all. Hadn’t messaged her for months—but then, she hadn’t messaged them either. There was no reason to think that whatever relationship they’d had before was completely gone.

The question was what relationship they’d had.

She’d tried not to think about it, generally. They were coworkers, and, more to the point, with everything that was happening with Open, Tender hadn’t really _wanted_ to get involved with anyone else. But they were cute, and good at thinking on their feet, and maybe she’d entertained the thought occasionally, briefly, but the force of her feelings hadn’t really hit her until she’d seen them standing there, beside _The_ _World Without End_ , and the distance that had stretched between them until that moment was suddenly an unimaginable injustice.

They’ll be gone again this time tomorrow, most likely. There’s no use getting worked up about it.

***

Hey Fourteen,

It was fun seeing you again. We should talk more. I know travel’s hard right now, with the Mirage the way it is, but it’s nice to see your face. Any of your faces. You know what I mean.

I can’t believe it’s been seven months since everything went down. It feels like it was only last week or something that the Fleet broke up. Does that make sense, or is it just me?

Hope to hear from you soon,

Tender

 

Fourteen,

No, I haven’t kept up with Signet very well, if I’m being honest. Last I heard she was doing well, although the rumors have gotten rather strange. It sounds like she’s real busy, since she’s an excerpt again now and all. I guess I should be happy for her.

Hey, how did that case go? Did they ever get the rights sorted?

Yours,

Tender

 

Fourteen,

Oh my god, is that time stamp on your last message accurate? Because it definitely only got through to here yesterday.

I like it on Seneschal. It’s peaceful. I do get homesick sometimes, but I got homesick back on Séance, too.

As for your other question... It’s complicated. It’s still weird to talk about these abilities. They’re tied so close to... complicated stuff, from my past. But I am getting the hang of it.

I wish you could see some of the stuff I’ve made. It’s really something to look at. I think you’d like it.

Love,

Tender

 

Fourteen,

Did Cascara come see you, too? I guess I don’t know why I’d assume she would. Would you go with her, if she asked?

If I did?

***

There’s a knock—not on the door, the room Tender’s claimed on _The World Without End_ doesn’t really have a knockable door, but on the wall beside the entrance, in polite imitation of a door—and Tender looks up, and it’s Fourteen.

Her heart leaps down to her stomach. She curls a strand of hair in her fingers and says, “Hey.”

“Hi.” They hover in the doorway. “I was—“

At the same moment, she says, “You can come in if you—“

She laughs. “Sorry. What is it, Fourteen?”

“I was just thinking,” they say, taking her invitation and stepping inside, “it’s been a while.”

“It has.”

“I just thought I should, you know, come say hi. We didn’t really get to talk earlier, with all the new folks, and everything.” Tender nods, watching their expression. They pause, and the silence stretches on, and Tender is about to say something just to fill the space when Fourteen says, “I missed you.”

“Oh.” The word comes out before Tender can even properly process what they said. What they’re saying. She missed them too, of course she did, more than she had any right to. Her feelings about Fourteen were this complex knot that she’d kept assuming she had plenty of time left to untangle. But now here they were. Tender’s tail lashes. “Yeah,” she says. She planned on there being more to that sentence, but nothing else comes out.

Silence.

“How have things been?” Tender asks. “Anything super interesting since the last time you messaged me?”

“Not really,” they say with a laugh. “Just—“ They gesture back to the hallway, in the direction of the rest of this new crew. “All of this.” They’re still standing halfway across the room from Tender, and she steps forward to close the gap.

“Fourteen—“

Someone else, in the doorway, behind them. (Tender grasps for a name. Echo something?) “Oh, Fourteen, there you are. Even said to tell you he’s looking for you?”

“Oh,” Fourteen says. Turns to face them. “Yeah, okay.”

“Honestly,” Echo says, “it didn’t sound that important. I think he’s just hoping you can tell him more about the ship. You don’t have to come right now or anything.”

“No,” Fourteen says. “No, it’s fine, we’re not really doing anything.” They make eye contact with Tender for a fraction of a second. “I’ll be right there.”

And they leave.

***

They’re sitting in the restaurant on the Ark when Gig gets up and leaves to go talk to someone, and Tender is struck by the realization that she and Fourteen are alone for the first time since the mission began. Alone, next to each other in this restaurant booth seating.

Fourteen lays their hand on the table, meets her gaze with a smile, and for a moment, the two of them sit there in comfortable silence. Tender finds herself studying their face. She thinks she knows it, now, finally, thinks she could probably recognize it anywhere.

The food has long since been cleared away. The teen who was working the service shift has left. It’s just the two of them, sitting at this table. Just the two of them.

The silence stretches on. She should say something.

“It’s been quite a day.”

Fourteen blinks. “Yeah,” they say. “You weren’t joking about those… abilities of yours, were you?”

Tender smiles. “I was not.”

Silence. Fourteen’s hand is still on the table, and Tender resists the urge to take it in her own.

“It was weird,” Fourteen says, their voice soft, “seeing Waltz.”

Tender takes a breath, leans back. “Yeah,” she says. Silence. “It’s funny, I don’t know that I remember actually liking him that much, back in the Beloved days? Like we met him, what, twice?”

“If that.”

“But you know, seeing him, it’s almost like those old days all over again.”

Fourteen nods. “I thought it was weird enough,” they say, “seeing you and Signet…” They trail off.

Silence.

When did talking to them become so hard? This conversation is going nowhere. Tender missed Fourteen, of course she missed Fourteen, but all they ever were was coworkers, same as Signet, same as Waltz Tango. And that’s fine, but Tender doesn’t need to sit here, in this dimly-lit room, any longer.

She says, “Should we go make sure Gig isn’t harassing any more teenagers?” and starts to stand, but Fourteen catches her on the arm, and she stops, halfway to her feet. Their hand stays there a moment, warm andsolid, and when they release their grip Tender finds herself wishing they hadn’t.

“Tender,” they say, and then, “I...”

Slowly, she sits back down, beside them. Closer than before, though she didn’t intend it. Close enough to touch them, close enough that if she leaned in, that if she just…

Fourteen takes a deep breath. “Did I ever tell you,” they say, “about how badly my memory tricked me, about you?”

Tender furrows her brow. Where are they going with this? “No, I don’t think so.”

“You should understand,” they say. “When I forgot about the hit on you—“ Tender flinches a little, despite herself. “I still—“ They laugh. “I still knew there was _something_ I was supposed to remember about you. I was so sure that I was forgetting something, something important, and, Tender, you have to understand, I was so worried that I was missing pieces of—of us.” They stop. It doesn’t feel like a complete thought, but they stop there. They meet her gaze, now, and Tender is left to pick up the line of thought.

“Are you saying you thought we…?”

“I mean, not _really_ ,” they say quickly. “But I wondered, right?” They force a laugh. They’re right beside her now, looking at her, their dark eyes warm and more familiar than the length of time that they’ve had them would make logical.

“Right,” Tender says.

And then.

She reaches out and cups their face in her hand, cautiously, her fingers barely making contact. They don’t say anything, just meet her gaze, hold it steady.

And everything in Tender is electric, alive. In that moment, time seems to freeze. Who knows, maybe it does; the Twilight Mirage is a weird place these days.

Point is, Tender has enough time, suspended in that single moment, to consider what she does next. To consider why. Because if not now, then when? Because since when has she been so hesitant to try and make something like this work? Because they’re looking at her like that.

She leans forward, closes the distance in an instant, and kisses them.

Fourteen’s eyes are wide as Tender pulls away, fighting to hide the smile on her face. They give a small laugh.

They lean in and kiss her again, their lips pressing into hers, their fingers tangling in Tender’s hair. Finally, finally, finally.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm confusedbluesky on tumblr & twitter if you want to come shout about fatt with me


End file.
